Permission to Wonder

A high-pitched hum hit the air, followed by two lower, very out-of-tune strums and a laugh that rang through the house. Summer break had just started, and my happy little self sat on the living room couch with my new electric guitar, determined to teach myself how to play ( in this case, a riff, though I didn’t know that’s what it was called).

Kids unapologetically chase joy. They shout about the things they love and constantly chase activities that spark curiosity, wonder, and excitement. They don’t know it’s bad to be bad at something until someone tells them so, and even then they don’t seem to care.

Do you remember the things you loved as a kid? Building blocks, riding a bike, playing cook, drawing, slamming random keys on the piano, etc. All these things have one very specific and important aspect in common: you didn’t require yourself to be good at them. We didn’t stop drawing cause it looked bad or building cause the blocks fell; instead, we laughed, too caught up in our joy to worry about how it looked. There were no stakes involved; you didn’t need to have perfect rhyme to play or know what to build; you simply let curiosity lead.

Fast forward a couple of years, and my guitar skills were good but not great. I had learned a total of four songs and about six chords, which I thought was awesome until I had guitar lessons. My guitar teacher, as nice as he was, didn’t see the use of teaching someone who had a problem in their left hand. I was told I wouldn’t be able to go any farther than I already had, and guitar was not the instrument for me, and just like that the thing I enjoyed became something I thought I couldn’t do. So I believed him, for a time.

See, kids give themself permission to fail without realizing they are doing so; an adult takes away their permission the same way. You grow up and learn what it means to be good at something; you’re sold the idea that you have to be good right from the start or make a whole career out of it ( funny coming from an artist I know).

Curiosity, play, wonder they make your soul come alive, something adults need more of, but you are the only one that can let those emotions, those passions drive you, and it’s about time you did.

A woman I met not too long ago remembered loving ballet and started dancing ballet again at 40. She said she felt like the child in her woke up again. Another man I spoke to picked up painting again after almost 30 years of not touching a paintbrush; his excitement for art bounced off every word he said. Both of them love their new, or rather old, found passions. They permitted themselves to try again, to wonder, and to have fun. If you get nothing else from this essay, get this: your passions aren’t dead; the child in you isn’t gone.

So bring them back: start drawing, building blocks, bike riding, or anything you enjoyed as a kid. Bring back the thing that makes you come alive again, that makes you feel the simple joy of play. Awaken your curiosity, try something you used to love; you don’t have to be good at it, just enjoy the process and see what happens.

After about a 12-year stretch, my electric guitar has slowly made its way off the wall, and as it turns out, I still like playing even if it means starting again from scratch. We never really lose the child in us; the same can be true with lots of passions we used to love as kids.

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